Loss
by fragmentalis
Summary: The tenure and release of Buggy Nova through the eyes of an unexpected bystander.


**A/N:** So, it's been awhile. I haven't submitted anything to this site in ages, but I'm utterly obsessed with this pairing, soo yeah.

-0-

The first day, he hadn't even noticed her. Looking back on it now, he didn't know how that could have happened, but it did. He had overheard people talking about someone new being signed, but he didn't really pay much attention. He preferred to keep to himself, as there tended to be less drama and stress that way. So many childish games went on behind the scenes at WWE, and they didn't stop short of the big leagues. They would spread to the developmental territory, too; though thankfully, it was to a lesser extent.

Dean Ambrose delegated to focus on himself, and on the heights he would reach when he got that fateful news. Moving onto the main roster was what he was working towards, and he seemed to get much more accomplished when he set goals for himself. Some of this focus shifted, however, the day he finally _did_ notice her. Buggy Nova. Later renamed Skyler Moon, though it just didn't have the same ring to it.

Jet black hair with a few blonde streaks, a black tank top advertising some band he'd never heard of. Ripped stockings revealing bits and pieces of her slender legs, stopping just under the ripped, black denim shorts she wore. Her pale skin adorned with beauty marks, too many to count. And he'd caught himself trying.

On paper, it sounded like any rebellious teenager that had ever lived. But he had seen the way she moved through the backstage area with the comfort and the poise of someone far beyond her years, and he knew it wasn't just some image she was forcing on herself. Then of course, he realized he was watching her from behind a crate, and in the process of trying to act natural, he'd knocked one of the smaller ones over with an obtrusive clatter.

That was the first time he'd looked her in the eye. Those piercing blue eyes, holding only confusion and curiosity in that moment. He didn't wait around to see what else would flicker inside of them, as he slinked backwards towards the locker room.

It was a few days before he saw her again, and over the course of those seemingly lengthy days, he didn't want to admit his fascination with her. It was there, however, and he knew he could only run from it for so long.

He was seated in the small FCW arena after it had emptied out, but before everything had been taken down. He was concealed amongst the steel chairs, stretched out across them on his back, staring up at a book. His brows were arched, and he was focusing intently on the aging pages, when he felt someone touch his face. He'd been so invested in what he was reading, he hadn't even noticed her standing above him until she'd decided to reveal herself. Every muscle in his body tightened, as her index fingers buried themselves gently into each corner of his mouth, stretching his mouth into a smile.

As soon as she'd let them go, his mouth fell into a straight line, an ironic contrast to his eyes which had opened up as far as they could. He couldn't seem to access the instinctively accusatory words that had crept up to his tongue. If it had been anyone else, the words would have simply spilled out of his mouth. '_What the hell do you think you're doing? Don't touch me._' And then he would have stormed off.

But to his knowledge, 'anyone else' didn't have eyes like her, so those words never came. In fact, he remained silent, and so did she. She simply smiled at him; a particularly pretty smile, patted his cheek, and went on her way. Dean sat up, unfortunately in the gap between two chairs, and fell to the ground with a soft thud. He just remained there, his book lying closed and forgotten at his feet.

He was hesitant to accept the fact that he looked forward to seeing her. She would smile at him in the hallway, but never say anything. And the only thing he could do was glance at her out of the corner of his eye and keep walking. She seemed to be content with their unspoken connection, whereas he was just befuddled by it.

There were many days like this. They never spoke to each other, but oftentimes, she would come and sit by him, only to trounce away after a few moments. He'd never had any issue speaking his mind in the past, but in some strange way, he felt that it just wasn't necessary with her. He had come to accept things the way they were, since she wasn't going anywhere. Or at least, that's what he thought.

Involuntarily, he noticed every little change she underwent, and there was something in her eyes that slowly faded over time. The joy she seemed to naturally radiate began to subside, and it became false and contrived. Something was wrong, and he knew it, but he never asked. He wasn't the type to pry, and he certainly wasn't the type to care. Nevertheless, it chipped away at him for days on end.

The day it came to a head was also the last day he ever saw her. It was the first time he had heard her voice, but she wasn't talking. She was crying. She was alone, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. No one else was around, and upon entering the room, Dean's footsteps echoed in the silence. Buggy turned to look at him, her expression helpless, as she swallowed hard and turned to him fully.

Dean approached her without caution, too close for comfort to most, but Buggy made no attempt to move away from him. She simply stared up at him, a few more tears rolling down her cheeks. Dean's brow drooped in apprehension, and he took a small breath and grazed his thumb across the wetness.

Her eyes lowered to his chest, while her hands traveled up to rest on his shoulders. Her intermittent sighs indicated she was having a silent argument within herself, but before Dean could cleverly ask which side was winning, she'd lifted her face back up towards him. He expected her to say something, but her lips remained pursed. He thought about speaking, but it felt as though his tongue were being forced down by his own pride.

His decision-making was cut short, as she raised up on the tip of her toes and pressed her mouth to his. Dean was caught by surprise, but he was no stranger to situations like this. Still, most girls he'd been with were a dime a dozen, and there had never been a Buggy Nova in that vast group.

His reaction took no planning, as it was purely instinctual. He deepened the kiss with such fervor, Buggy was lifted up slightly and pressed firmly against the wall. She curled her arms upward to let her fingers tangle in his hair. Her lips parted somewhat, allowing him to take over, and he took the opportunity to pour everything he had felt and wanted to say into the kiss without having to speak a single word. Every thrust of his tongue was another fact that he'd attempted to cover up with indifference over the previous few weeks. Every nibble on her bottom lip was another conversation they _should_ have had during all those fleeting encounters.

He was unsure of who broke the kiss. All he knew was that a few moments later, he'd ended up beside her, his own back against the wall, as well. He tilted his head up, the ceiling filling his sight, as he struggled to get his breathing under control. He looked down after a moment, to find the spot next to him empty.

He searched the room for a few seconds, before finding her wedged in the door, her head cocked to the side to stare at him. She held a small, sad smile. Her open palm lifted up weakly to wave at him, before she disappeared completely. It was then that it hit him. She was kissing him goodbye.

He clung to the hope that he was wrong, but he didn't dare ask anyone to confirm or deny it. His suspicions were realized after a few days of not seeing her. He was headed towards the locker room to get ready for the show, when he overheard a couple of people talking in the hallway.

"Hey, did you hear Buggy Nova got released?"


End file.
